Jacque's Lament

I hate insects.

Those filthy, parasitic, dirty little creatures of hell have killed me. I don't have much time left…

There's no use denying it. They've all given up on me. All the nurses and doctors just walk past, hustling around and ignoring me. Even now, I hear one calmly reporting the death of the kid in the bed right next to me. He's dying of the same thing…or he was, at least. I didn't know him that well, but he always had a smile on his face. Now that smile's gone, covered up by a white bed sheet. I guess nurses have to be blunt and detached if they want to stay sane. Even the sun's dying, slowly setting down in the west, going out with one big fanfare of cascading colors.

I don't blame my death on Bondye. I blame Him for the earthquake that killed my parents, sure, but not for this. I was in the city with my sister trying to sell beads so we could have enough money to eat that night. Then it happened. The aluminum house just collapsed in on itself, crashing down on top of my parents. I lost sight of my sister for just a second in the confusion and I've never seen her since.

I don't blame any god for this. It's such an easy excuse to blame everything on them when you or something else around you is the one at fault. I don't even blame myself for letting this happen to me. I blame those demons. I blame those flying swarming vampires, spreading their deadly diseases like they enjoy it. I wouldn't be surprised if they did enjoy killing us. If they didn't, why do so many seem dedicated to poisoning us?

They're everywhere. It's impossible to take a quick look around and not see dozens of them, dancing around in a cruel mockery of our way of life. I bet they live to laugh at us, waiting to watch us collapse in rigor and fever. They chuckle and buzz with glee as we are consumed by aches and pains across all our body. Some of them just sit there, staring at me as I cough and continue my useless struggle to take another breath of air. Others fly away to find another victim. They enjoy making us suffer.

This hospital is so useless. I don't even know why I brought myself here.  It's not even a real hospital, it's just a set of beds outside a half-destroyed building that used to be one. Maybe it was to end my life in peace, staring at a setting sun. Maybe I was tired of struggling to live on my own. Maybe it was out of a misplaced hope that everything would be ok, a hope that maybe American medicine could actually help.

What a laugh. Some white guy from Pennsylvania, Alfred Kames, said I'd be fine. Doctors are lousy liars. They can't do anything now. It's too late. The sun's beginning to disappear… They can't even keep away those miniscule, blood-sucking dragons that infected me. There's one next to me right now on my toe, staring into my fading eyes. I swear he has a sickening evil grin on his face.

Where's Erzulie Freda, the spirit of love, when you need her? Who am I kidding, why would a Loa care about me? Those spirits can talk directly with Bondye; by comparison, I'm nothing. I'm just a weak, malnourished, sick adolescent. I'm useless, so I'm dying. Survival of the fittest is what some would call it… I just call it life. Or death. Take your pick.

It's so quiet. No beating of the voodoo drums, no singing, no prayers, nothing. In fact…why can't I hear anything? What happened to the talking in the background and the desperate sobbing? What about the footsteps padding into the soft dirt and the soft buzzing of those accursed insects?

Why can't I smell anything? What happened to the scent of that sickening medicine and the salty smell of my own sweat? Why…why can't I even see anything now? What happened to the sun's vanishing rays? What happened to feeling the constant, labored thumping of my own heartbeat? Why can't I… … … oh. I know. I'm dead.

I hate insects.